


in medias res

by ntkrrs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Post-Promised Day, Royai - Freeform, Young Love, Young Royai, Young!Royai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntkrrs/pseuds/ntkrrs
Summary: In the events leading up to the wedding of Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell, Roy Mustang finds he regrets his decisions—not because they got him to where he wanted to be, but because he robbed Riza Hawkeye of the future she deserved.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. 1917, early february

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firewoodfigs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/gifts).



> not quite a fic. this was just supposed to be a [headcanon post](https://notkorras.tumblr.com/post/635095564607012864/does-anyone-else-have-the-headcanon-that-roy-is-so) that grew into an absolute [_behemoth_](https://notkorras.tumblr.com/post/635112207652388864/notkorras-notkorras-notkorras-does-anyone-else)—i didn't exactly do anything to stop it—because i just kept reblogging the damn thing to feed it. so i decided to put my foot down and just. write it out.
> 
> so yeah. have fun!
> 
> un-beta'd.
> 
> more @ notkorras.

They are left alone.

Lieutenant Hawkeye is dutifully fulfilling her paperwork at her desk, and her commanding officer just stares at the back of her blond head. The rest of the men have left to go on break after three hours straight of paperwork, but Hawkeye is not like the men.

The slope of her neck is elegant and pale, like the top of a snowy mountain against a bright sky. Seamless, neat. A few wisps of hair (baby hair, he thinks with amusement), escape the rest of her locks as they are pulled into her harsh clip. He wonders why she doesn’t cut it when she never lets it down anyway.

That’s not true; she does. Just not around anyone. Just not around him. 

Not anymore.

“Colonel,” she says, and the word snaps him out of his train of thought. He’s so surprised he nearly smacks his hand down on a pot of ink. That would’ve been a bitch to clean out. “I’ll be right back.”

Her chair drags on the floor as she pushes back, looking up to meet his eyes, and belatedly he realises she’s waiting for him to give her permission. “Where to?”

“The toilet,” she says blankly.

Colonel Mustang tries not to color. “Right. Of course.”

Hawkeye normally doesn’t allow herself curiosity, but he can see she wants to know what he’s thinking. Or he knows her well enough to be able to tell. Either way, it doesn’t feel fulfilling.

True to form, she says nothing.

When she leaves, his thoughts wander. They tended to do that recently. With the defeat of the homunculi, the defeat of Bradley (who got a hero’s burial, the bastard), everything feels… murky. The goal is not as clear. Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s never been clearer.

But his needle-like focus has evaporated as if into thin air. It felt deceptively simple. With the bad guys gone—the bad guys who started the war—everything seemed easier. Everything seemed doable. Mustang knows it’s not true, but he can’t help to think otherwise. Bradley’s gone, and so were his closest men and confidants. The person who commanded the extermination of Ishvalans, and the people who believed similarly, were eradicated. Everything should be easier.

But he's been on alert for so long he doesn't know what an easy life feels like anymore.

Mustang believes that every moment in his life would build up to something. Every success, every hardship, every step would lead somewhere. He thought that that something would be toppling over the Bradley regime. Maybe even physically stripping Bradley of his accoutrements. It didn’t quite turn out that way; in fact, he was far from the man’s demise. It didn’t turn out quite the way he imagined.

He thinks now. Maybe his singular focus was too zeroed in on one man. On one system. On utilizing as much of his resources as he could to get information. He didn’t have to do that, not anymore, what with the aftermath of the war and how well-received he was by the public. He was not wanting for information or had to contact the grimiest, darkest parts of the city to get it.

Or maybe it was his eyesight. Using the Stone to restore his vision seemed… a little _too_ perfect, a little too well-placed. But Marcoh insisted, as he’d been using it to treat the villagers of the small town he’d retreated to after the war. The Stone cannot be destroyed, the doctor said.

“ _The first matter of the stone is the very same with the first matter of all things_ ,” Marcoh quoted when asked why he didn’t get rid of the Stone. "The Stone is energy. And, as we know, energy cannot be created nor destroyed.” 

He then sat through a quick lecture on the morbid science of how the endless potential of human life gives the Stone its limitless power.

Mustang thinks some more. Thinks back, farther than Ishval, farther than his licensure exam. Farther than his time at the academy.

Moments later, the door opens. Hawkeye comes in, and he remembers.

Once upon a time, Roy decided to enrol under the tutelage of a master. His love for science and alchemy encompassed all else; he had no use for art or music, all he cared of was his research and discovery. He’d grown obsessed with his education, his Aunt Chris finally managing to snag him a mentor— _and by the skin of my teeth, too_ , she’d remind him each time he'd write home.

It was difficult. It was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to endure at seventeen. But he’d grown to appreciate the lessons he’d learned, both in science and in life. One such was his realisation that no matter what happened in a day, it would still end and a new one would begin. _Yesterday does not matter today_ , he repeated to himself over and over as a student. 

He looked forward to new days. To learning, to discovering, to new chances. To see the sun rise, full of hopeful potential. Full of possibilities. Full of the future.

Once upon a time, the sun had been her.

And finally, he understands the feeling that’s pooling in his stomach as Hawkeye's chair scratches against the wooden floor and she settles back down unto her desk.

It’s regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the summary of the research i did on prime matter and the philosopher's stone can be found [here.](https://notkorras.tumblr.com/post/635151411586482176/it-ok-i-did-a-deep-dive-into-alchemy-and-kind-of)


	2. 1905, april

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited on 30 Nov 2020.

The knock on the main door startled Riza in her ham curing.

The blonde looked up, staring at the entrance to the house. Her father said simply not to answer if someone from the military knocked; he’d had it with them and their invitations and would rather ignore them altogether. He hated the military. Moreso now, it seemed, after the death of her mother.

The knock resounded again, and Riza set down her materials, dusting her hands of the curing salt and wiped them on her apron as she approached the door. Their door had no peephole, so she looked through one of the windows. Her eyes widened.

The dark-haired boy, taller, probably older than her, nearly leapt back in surprise when she yanked the door open.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait,” she let out in a breath, “I was in the kitchen.”

The boy seemed taken aback, still, but managed to compose himself quickly. “It’s, um, it's okay. I'm sorry for coming at a—at a bad time."

"It's fine," Riza said.

He cleared his throat after a moment of awkward silence. "Um, I’m looking for Berthold Hawkeye?”

Her father? "Oh, um. He's kind of... busy, at the moment."

"Oh, he, um—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "My Aunt—I was told to come to this address. Today, at two."

She hadn't been told and continued to stare at him.

"I was told to not be late," he continued. 

Stared.

He seemed to flush at her attention. "And, uh, to officially enrol under his tutelage."

 _Oh_. He's another student, then.

Her eyebrows shot up, surprised. "Oh, I see! I'm sorry, I just—I wasn't told that you'd be... arriving today. Could I, uh... What's your name?"

“It’s Roy Mustang,” the boy answered, half-smiling in nervousness. 

Riza nodded. “Could you, um—Is it alright if you wait? My father isn’t… privy to guests, most of the time. I'll let him know you're here.”

He nodded vigorously. “Sure! Sure. I—” He moved his foot and toppled his suitcase. “Oh—”

She raced upstairs as he picked up his belongings. She knocked on the door of his study. "Father?"

"Yes, Riza?" her father said, not looking up.

"You have a guest." Mentioning the name to her father, the man tipped his head in a nod. He got up from his chair, a little slower than she’d like. “Send him in.”

Riza headed back down, taking the stairs two at a time. “You can come in,” she said when she arrived at the the bottom of the staircase.

Roy stepped in, admiring the old but still elegant interiour. The decrepit outside told a completely different story; from what he saw of the inside, the house must have been amazing in its prime. “Your house is very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said with a flattered blush. “Come on, we’ll head upstairs.”

Roy nodded, following suit. “So, um, could I get your name?”

“It’s Riza,” she said, leading him upstairs.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Riza,” he responded sincerely as he climbed up after her. Riza didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept silent and brought him into her father’s study. She closed the door behind him, like her father asked.

—

For the second time today, Roy scared her while working in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I could do to help?” he asked from the doorway. Riza nearly dropped all the fruit she was holding.

“Oh, um,” she said, arranging them in a basket. “No. It's fine I’m done for today.”

“Oh. Okay. Um. Thank you for dinner,” he tried again. Riza simply hummed in response, not sure what to say. She'd never made friends with any of her father's students. She tried, once, but he ended up leaving after a month and never wrote back. Everyone else left in a similar manner, and her father went through students so quickly that she hadn't bothered even speaking to them. They hadn't bothered to speak with her, either, and that was fine.

After the slightest of sighs, Roy Mustang walked away.


End file.
